The monastery - Inside the Park Güell, the leaves of the trees vibrate with the voices of those who mingle with the cries of birds, surrounded by the sound of the instruments that travelers bring here. A little of everything: of madness and folly. In a few days we will review the images that the eyes of Marti captured of the Wolf wrapped in all of this. And the sound of the footsteps of others who are on the tape will be so different from how we feel them now. We are protected by the Cabezas Clavas. We leave this mess to the Sala Monasterio, that must wait till we finish the showcase in Fnac of Barcelona and one interview to another radio of Valencia, where our steps will lead us tomorrow. There is something religious in knowing that Bob Brozman was sitting in the chairs that our prayers are now occupying - something of an inheritance. Something that I do not quite know what it is, that holds our smile. Joao Rui